Making the Most
by Pterobat
Summary: A reformatted and freed Cyclonus is determined to revive the Decepticons. But will this new technorganic world bend to his will? PostBeast Machines with G1 protagonist
1. Chapter 1

**Making the Most**

**Chapter 1**

_This was written before the Wreckers comics, and doesn't take into account Cyclonus' role there. I plan keep avoiding those comics because of the contradiction with my fanfic._

Cyclonus' red optics flickered to life, as the dream, really a twisted old memory, began to fade. This was his reality: A shrunken body--mockingly perfect in every detail to his original one--that faced an uncertain future.

Sitting up, Cyclonus plucked the recharge tubes off his chest and arose from the metal slab to walk among his troops. Some couldn't immediately be seen, likely sleeping off in the dark as he had been. But most had gathered on the dank floor of the old compound, grumbling, turning their heads to glare at Cyclonus as he strode past.

Complaints flew back and forth about the poor lighting and the drab setting. Under this irritation Cyclonus could sense the deeper rage at knowing that they were being kept here while others decided what to do with them, the losers of the Great War.

At least, that was what those rebels to the old ways, the Maximals and Predacons, called it. He would not stoop to using _their_ terms.

His troops did not appear in the mood for an inspiring speech, so he would let them be for now. Instead, Cyclonus wandered about until he found his second-in-command.

Scourge was sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees as he hunched up. Cyclonus crouched next to him.

"Don't be a coward," he told the other Unicronian in a low and urgent voice. "If you are, the Maximals will have already won."

Scourge turned to him, eyes wide and frightened. His tone, however, was bitter. "I hate to tell you this, Cyclonus, but they _have_ won!"  
"Not until we are all dead." He gripped Scourge's shoulder and shook it, making his voice fierce. "I must be able to rely on you in this! Have you forgotten everything I taught you?"

Scourge frowned. "Of course not. But look around you: It's over. Our fate's being decided by others. _That's_ what we ought to be worrying about, not reclaiming some glory that's as dead as..."

"As what?" Cyclonus prompted.

Scourge said nothing, but his face lost some of its sullenness. A commotion nearby took Cyclonus' attention, and he stood up and walked away, not looking back.

In the large doors, a tiny panel had opened to admit a hoverprojector. This closed immediately after, though the opening had been too small to admit even the smallest cassette.

The rounded device floated above the crowd, which mostly regarded it with the hostility of a territorial animal seeing an intruder. None could get at it: all of their flight jets had been forcibly disabled, at it was out of the reach of the most powerful beast mode leap. It flashed an image on the crowd of one of the hated Maximals, many times larger than life.

"Trying to pretend he's as big as we were!" called someone, and several Decepticons snickered.

"Greetings, Decepticons. I am Maximal Elder Wolfang, one of the new governing body of Cybertron. I come to tell you of your future."

Everyone quieted. Cyclonus' eyes narrowed.

"We are willing to offer you all amnesty, which is political pardon from all your past crimes. In return for this, you will renounce your allegiance, and agree to terms of non-violence for the rest of your lives. All of the new facilities and positions available to our new society will be open to you.

"For those of you who refuse to change, you will be led to a prison where you shall be put into stasis until your time runs out. There will be no--" The hologram flickered, wavered, became jagged and distorted, then reshaped itself into a different entity. This one wore a long robe of finely stamped metal, as well as a medallion with the Predacon insignia.

"Greetings, Decepticons," he said, imitating the first hologram. "I am General Ram Horn of the Tripredacus Council. I offer you a third choice." He grinned, as if sharing some great secret. "Take the offer of amnesty, but join the Predacon Secret Police. You will work as warriors under a new loyalty, to continue the proud legacy of your faction, while those unsuspecting Maximals give you their charity even as they are brought down." Ram Horn raised his clenched fist, and the hologram ended.

The Decepticons all began to talk at once, and Cyclonus raised his voice to be heard above the din. "Do not be fooled. They are using these empty histrionics to fool you into forgetting your heritage--!"

"Aw, pipe down, Bunnyboy!" snapped Rumble from somewhere that Cyclonus couldn't see.

"Yeah!" yelled Motormaster. "Especially since it's your fault we're here anyway!"

Cyclonus felt his confidence take just the slightest dent.

"All your Galvatron this and Galvatron that! I bet if you'd have just killed him when you had the chance, we'd be ruling galaxies by now!" That was Swindle.

"But you wait, and now Decepticon army torn up so bad we can't fix!" added Apeface, though he had expressed happiness about being downsized and his bond with Spasma broken.

Many more snarling cries of affirmation rose from the all sides. Cyclonus was frozen, but in anger rather than fear. _They cannot possibly mean this! What about the Decepticon cause_? "What does it matter?" he said aloud. "This is only a setback. If we are determined, we can rise from this--"

"Like we rose up from Chaar?" sneered Skullcruncher. "Come on, face it. You had your chance and you blew it! Now no matter where we go, we're under the footplates of somebody."

Cyclonus felt flooded with disgust. Here was _his_ army, crawling back to grovel to their enemies! Turning his back, he stomped over to Scourge, sure that he would find an ally.

"Fools!" cried Cyclonus to no one in particular. "I cannot believe that they have done this!"

"Then...I guess you can't believe me, either." said Scourge bitterly, still on the floor and not meeting Cyclonus' gaze.

It took a moment for that to register. "What!" cried Cyclonus.

Scourge managed to look scared and defiant at the same time. "I don't want to work for Maximals, and anything besides the Council is going to be a dead end."

"Do you believe the part about this all being mine and Galvatron's fault? I suppose if you'd murdered us when you wanted to, you'd have done better?" That was a cheap shot. Scourge didn't like to talk about that incident, for reasons Cyclonus had never discerned. It was not out of remorse.

Now Scourge looked wholly angry. "I'm not going to waste time dwelling on it." He rose and looked up at Cyclonus. "And what are you going to do?"

"I will not take _your_ choice. It is dishonourable." Cyclonus crossed his arms and turned away from Scourge.

"So you're going into _stasis_? How honourable is sleeping your life away?"

Cyclonus briefly let his guard drop. "It...It is something you could never understand." He finished in an admonishing tone, refusing not to look away from Scourge.

"Fine," replied his former second, who then rose and walked away.

Cyclonus looked after him in astonishment, staring after his second. _He can't possibly_... But he had. His closest ally had turned on him

Standing there for a few moments, Cyclonus then returned to shouting at the rest of the Decepticons, and their petulantly jeering back. Nothing was achieved.

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The Maximals soon came. Pounding loudly on the door, they herded out Cyclonus' troops single file, training weapons on them as they did so, reminding the Decepticons that the weapons were meant to kill instantly. Gun turrets also followed the Decepticons' movement, and so did the other heavily armed Maximals waiting at the fringes of the courtyard.

Flanked by a pair of huge Maximals, an underling walked among the Decepticons, asking each what their choice was, splitting them into two groups with a gesture.

It hurt to see how vastly Scourge's group (for that was how he labelled them in his mind, perceiving a rift between himself and the other) outnumbered his. But he observed the arrogance on the Maximals' faces, and his anger and thus his strength was renewed. Fruitless cries for revenge tumbled through his mind, with no plans or reason. Standing firm, he tried to appear august and threatening.

Energon bonds were clamped on all the Decepticons, even the cowards, before they left the compound. When this was announced some did snarl and fight, but Cyclonus had remained as he was, though he hoped the hard look on his face told all the Maximals that this was not submission. _I am not afraid of you,_ Cyclonus told them in the privacy of his mind. _You can never bring down the Decepticons._

A group of five Maximals, bristling with armament, followed him, giving Cyclonus a tiny ego boost. Leading him to his room, one guard pointed to the stasis machine. Had he any knowledge of such things, Cyclonus might have noted the resemblance to an Earth coffin, albeit one covered with tubing and devices, leaning against a block of metal.

Settling his broad frame into the open chamber and feeling the restraints dissolve, Cyclonus repeated his vows. The translucent lid settled over him, and the space filled with pinkish gas, and he went under.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Cyclonus dreamed.

-----------------------------------------------------------

_Prepare to be Reformatted. _

Sensation returned as something opened around Cyclonus like a jagged cocoon, letting in bright light. This seemed to rejuvenate him, giving him a stronger awareness of what and where he was, helped by the return of sight.

He stood upon a vast silver and green plain, under a sky as bright as an Earth day. Two huge and heavy things were dragging down his upper body, and as he rose slowly, uncurling, he felt their shape become part of him.

It was startling to look back and see that those new appendages were huge feathered wings, and he had a short tail, as well as clawed, elongated feet supporting legs that seemed bent at a permanent angle. Yet the arms before him had his colours, with detailing the likes of which he'd never seen.

To the west weredozens of Transformers in the distance running over the hills, cheering with joy at something. Their looks were as strange as his: curving musculature, animalistic heads, functional wings and tails, the eyes of beasts, and yet they all seemed oblivious to it.

Others crawled sluggishly over the hills in every direction, trying to get used to new limbs. A male tried to rise on the thick tail that replaced his legs, while a female stared stupidly at the extra pair of arms she had. Inquiries floated on the air.

"Is this Cybertron?"

"_What_ the _Pit_!"

One mystery solved; these beings were still Transformers, but was this home? He was beginning to feel more in control of his body regardless. Taking a few wobbling steps, he paused at the top of the hill. The city below had strange, angular architecture that seemed merged with the land, sharing its colours.

He had to know more. He'd been given a second chance, and could not waste itConcentrating, he took a running start, then leapt, opening his wings. Control flowed into this new move, and a few powerful flaps took him higher, throwing up blades of...grass? Yes, grass, which he caught in one hand to see delicate circuitry mixed with the plant matter. Shaking his head, Cyclonus tossed it away and powered himself forward with greater urgency, but... he had nowhere to go, no idea where to start.

It would mean observing, skulking, hiding, his identity as a criminal escaped from forced stasis likely not erased by these circumstances. It was repulsive, but his own comfort could be sacrificed for greater dignity. Let others gawk at this new world; he had far more important things to do.

Much later, Cyclonus was, to his infinite embarrassment, so overwhelmed that he took refuge in an alleyway, curling his animal form into a ball as he tried to sort things out, ears alert for any intruder. When a sound came too near he uncurled, throwing his body from the wall to stand in the center of the alleyway, fur and feathers bristling, talons clenched. He faced a black wolf with blue metallic components.

"What do you want, Maximal?" His sides were heaving, shame and fury burning inside him.

"I'm not a Maximal," The Transformer shifted forms. He was winged, blue, a mat of overlapping black shards forming a beard, moustache and hair. His face was white and slightly wolflike, etched with subtle circuitry and markings like bags under the eyes.

Cyclonus actually stepped back, raising one claw. "You..." But he shook himself. "You are hunting for me?"

"I just followed an old scent trail. Can't say that I'm surprised; of course the Drones would have gone for the prisons, too."

"Drones? Regardless, leave me. We are no longer allies."

"With me you have no argument." Scourge folded his arms.

"Do you want something?"

"I bet I know what _you_ want."

"To continue my campaign."

Scourge's strange eyes widened. "I guessed it, but I still can't believe you're thinking about that. It's been three hundred slagging years!"

Had it been that long? "And that does not matter, apparently. This is still something you would not understand."

"I might. What have you been doing since you woke up?"

"I...have been observing how this new Cybertron works, in preparations for recruiting. I can hardly be the only one who was freed by this accident, and maybe some of the traitors are not beyond hope. This appears to be a time of peace. It shall be easy to take control."

"Oh really?" Scourge chuckled insolently. Then something flashed in his eyes. "I could teach you more quickly. But you have to appeal to me, first."

Cyclonus literally growled. But with Scourge here, perhaps he could infiltrate the Predacon groups, discover more quickly how this new world worked, and then betray them at his convenience. Only Galvatron could have held his loyalty. "Then I ask you, based on being your former commander, fellow Decepticon, creation of Unicron, and lieutenant of Galvatron, to give me your aid." He put forth one claw, as if to get Scourge to shake it.

He stared at the offered talons and then began to snicker again. "Now I know you're lying. You've never called on our heritage before."

Cyclonus did not withdraw. "Are you going to agree or not?"

Scourge smiled, showing fangs in his mouth. Likely he wanted to toy with him a little. "I do. It's just that I'm wondering if you can take the experience."

Bristling, Cyclonus took a few steps forward, deliberately tearing at the ground as he did. "I have nothing to prove to you." How dare he! But Cyclonus reminded himself that he could not have expected things to remain the same.

Rolling his eyes, Scourge abruptly turned and started to walk away. "Are you coming?"

That was all he would give him, not even looking back? Very well then. But something else in Cyclonus was rebelling; Scourge had always asked _him _what they were to do. But he changed forms, noting that he was a head taller than Scourge.

They both spread their wings and took to the air. Scourge's were leathery black, supported by a single blue rib, though when the sun hit them just right, mechanical patterning could be seen.

Cyclonus flew clear of the aerial boundary markers, which marked where individual flyers could go without interfering with the flying transports. It was still unnerving to look below and see the city filled with idle crowds under definite cycles of day and night. The right world was desolate metal under a perpetual night, one that he had often recalled in his stasis dreams, moreso than Chaar.

"Are you listening to me?"

Scourge's irritation halted his musings and left him equally annoyed.

"We're going _this_ way, to the Citizenry Office," Scourge pulled on Cyclonus' forearm, leading him to the left rather then straight ahead. Recalling the term from his lurking, Cyclonus still did not know what it meant, and he asked Scourge.

"Everybody who wants to live in Cybertropolis has to be registered there on file. New policy. Well, at least to you."

Ridiculous. They should be able to come and go as they pleased, but he let himself be led.

As he did, Scourge continued. "Things have changed much. They've become complex, borrowing a lot from human systems. Voting, government, supposed factional cooperation, slag, even arts and culture."

Cyclonus frowned and shook his head. "Idiocy."

"Seems to work," Scourge's tone was neutral

"And what do you think of it?" No, no he should not be caring. Scourge was simply a means to and end.

Pensive for only a moment, Scourge said, "I couldn't care less. The Predacons have helped be become a better fighter, among other things, but the rest doesn't do anything for me and I'm sure not grateful." He winced.

"'Better fighter'? You surrendered to them!"

His brother smirked and lowered his voice. "We take the gifts when we get them." Louder he added, "And we're here, anyway; let's go in."

The small building hung with vines was a distasteful sight, though not as much as being given an order, even a small one. But Cyclonus would have freedom. Just a small period of humiliation and he would be on his way. He couldn't let small things irritate him so easily.

Inside, flowers grew from the ceiling, mixed with soft metal in shades of blue and purple. They had to stand before a skeletal metal desk fitted with a computer and occupied by a mammalian female who watched them with bright eyes. Scourge told her in a reasonably courteous voice a story of Cyclonus wanting to join the world of Maximals and Predacons, after finding a changed world had changed _him_.

Scourge finished with, "True, he is a former prisoner, but he has not even stolen energon since his emergence."

Cyclonus tried not to smirk. Scourge was still as obsequious as ever, despite his pretensions to strength.

The female tapped a few buttons on her computer, and a pair of burly Maximals emerged from somewhere. "We get a lot of that lately," she explained in a disinterested tone. "Not from the Great War guys so much, but I hope you'll understand if we ask you a few questions."

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"I despise lying," murmured Cyclonus as they later flew into the night. "But it is worse to wear both Predacon and Decepticon insignia."

"I know, I know," growled Scourge, in irritation instead of sympathy. "But what can you do? Besides, they are just symbols, and you can hardly see them."

They had been emblazoned on the parts of his body resembling shoulder guards, Predacon on the left, Decepticon on the right. "How appropriate, coming from you."

Scourge snorted. "Do you think you'd have been very credible on your own?"

"Are you asking for my gratitude?"

"You don't outrank me anymore, not to mention that I've survived three hundred years on my own. I don't ask you what to do anymore, or fawn unless I can get something out of it." Seeing Cyclonus' stare, he snarled, like an animal. "We're equals now, or close to it. No more putting on airs. Got it?"

Cyclonus grimaced and turned away, "No," he said flatly. "You betrayed the sign you wore. That makes you less than--"

"No one _cares_ anymore, Cyclonus."

He clenched his fists at his sides. "I do not and never will need to explain myself to you. All you need to know, Scourge, is that I desire something, and I need your aid. It is up to you if you wish to give it."

"Yeah, sure, fine."

"Hmph. Then tell me, what is my transformation?"

"Your beast mode, you mean? It's a Fuzor."

Cyclonus repeated the word slowly, tasting it. "What does it mean?"

"All this," Scourge waved a long-fingered hand, "comes as a result of the creation of organic beast modes. They used to be just nanomachine shells, but now, as you can see, things are different. They started taking DNA from one animal to make the shells. It was originally for the explorers, helping them blend on other worlds--yeah, they started exploring. But it was such a weird and new thing that it caught on, so you could pick your own beast mode from a DNA bank."

"Disgusting." Cyclonus was aware that his tail flicked as he said it. "Mixing themselves with organics."

"Not as bad as doing it with Neublans, though. Fuzors, well, there was an accident in the process once, and the beast shell came out with two creatures combined but full and functional, just as a chimera. They went wild over the idea; designer beast modes. They mixed parts of creatures from all over the galaxy. The Oracle must have been pressed for beast modes, so it made some Fuzors. You look to be a lion-eagle, only I'm not sure where your ears came from."

"All right, then. What are those?" He pointed to some large, cylindrical devices projecting from the ground

"Those're public access terminals. Once their backups are restored, they'll get you caught up." He looked about, then added. "With what the Maximals say, anyways. It won't tell you about what the other Decepticons or Autobots are doing. Because they're not doing much."

"Well, what do they do?"

"Not until the Council inspects you, which will be soon. But we're going to have to discuss what you'll say before the meeting."

Scourge explained the Tripredacus Council to him, who had weeded out the Decepticons that came to them, erasing the memories of the failures or arranging it so that they were sent to prison. Scourge had clawed his way into the ranks of the Agents on, he said, sheer bitter anger at the taunts and accusations of the others.

The best of the remainder were even upgraded, though all were involved in the same clandestine efforts to undermine the Maximals.

It was disgusting to hear of lurking about in shadows, but it was probably the closest thing to an acceptable occupation left for him.

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Even when addressing Galvatron, Cyclonus had never appeared submissive. Now he tilted his head up defiantly to look at the three generals upon their tall podiums, appearing not to take heed of the dim lighting, long shadows, and sparse, angular decoration, all designed to intimidate.

Meanwhile Scourge was hunched in obeisance, just a little in front of Cyclonus. It was strange to think of the pose as it as calculated.

General Ram Horn glared down at them. "How could you even consider admitting an avowed _Decepticon_ opponent of the new order? Our position is precarious enough as it is."

Cicadacon added, "The society will be changing soon. Such a radical metamorphosis cannot fail to stir up the public, and it will be even harder to gain a foothold in the government."

Scourge said in his most unctuous voice, "Leaders, I do too perceive the problem. Yet if times are going to become trying, surely we would need more soldiers to ensure our position. And would it not seem reasonable that his desire to join us for a place of stability and a cause to fight for is genuine?"

"Perhaps your sibling should speak for himself," suggested Ram Horn in a dangerous tone.

Bowing clumsily, Scourge scampered backwards. Cyclonus almost knocked him over.

"Scourge speaks the truth. I realize I have been given a second chance because of the Great Reformatting, and feel it best to use that as a Predacon. In addition, I would relish the chance to continue battling the Maximals, who were my enemies before the sleep and were partially responsible for a great loss."

Sea Clamp dimmed his optics, steepled his fingers, and leaned back. "I admit that records show you have a reputation for strength in loyalty and in battle. Yet I do not know how you could assure this Council that you will serve us well."

"I can give you nothing but my word, as I once did to another leader." They had argued over making references to Galvatron. He didn't want to, but Scourge had pointed out that it would remind the Council of Cyclonus' reputation for loyalty.

"Scourge has proven loyal," Cicadacon stated. "Perhaps if you acted as his ward for a successful trial period we would then admit him."

"Foolish." hissed Ram Horn. "Haven't you read records? They were virtually inseparable, and could conspire."

"If I may speak, my past ties to Cyclonus mean nothing now. And surely my years of dutiful service mean _something_."

Three pairs of optics narrowed. Finally, Sea Clamp spoke up. "Cyclonus already knows of us and our mission. It would be a probable waste to kill him, based upon his history. So I would be for allowing him in."

"Very well," agreed Cicadacon.

Ram Horn, clearly dissatisfied with being outvoted, looked down at Scourge. "But if he commits any treason, you will suffer along with him."

"Thank you all, Generals. I humbly accept your judgment, and promise to, ah--" Likely Scourge had noticed the looks on the Generals' faces that said _Get out of our sight_ and hurried to comply, Cyclonus following.

As they wound their way through the corridors, Cyclonus asked, "No trial mission?"

"They'll give one to you when they feel like it. Such things have to be planned carefully, and when it comes your reaction will show how well you deal with the unexpected."

Cyclonus resisted the urge to scoff. "And what do you do in the meantime?"

"Plenty of things. Go out to bars, holocenters, hook into the visunet."

"Then do you know where the other Decepticons congregate?"

Scourge frowned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Making the Most  
Chapter 2**

Foul missiles pelted Cyclonus before he'd even crossed the threshold into The Rolling Arkadroid. Scourge had been behind him, and so had gotten the least of it, but Cyclonus would do nothing with his own, letting it ooze down his body. He'd warned him that it was seedy, and the Decepticons had fallen on hard times. It was only to be expected.

"Soft as your spines!" someone yelled from deeper inside. More started as if that were a cue.

"Hey, Scourge, is it harder to kiss skidplates with fangs?"

"How many smacks are you thankful for?"

"Do your commanders let you put energon on their feet before you lick them?"

"Did I mention what a perfect form a dog is?"

Scourge stepped around Cyclonus, actually _pushed _him aside. "Snapdragon! I'm not thankful for _any_ blows, but I bet you're thankful nobody knows how many Maximals you've interfaced with!"

Shaking with rage, the former Headmaster was silent for but a moment, letting out a scream of anger that deepened into a roar as he became a dinosaur and charged, smashing his table aside. Scourge also transformed and leapt onto his scaly back, stabbing in with his fangs and enlarged claws, sharper than those of any real canine.

As Snapdragon struggled and twisted, others were moving in to form a circle around the combatants, placing bets and cheering one or both on.

Cyclonus stood off to the side, apparently forgotten. This should not have been. True Decepticons were not soft and sentimental like Autobots, but they saved their strength for the enemy.

Crouching, Snapdragon threw himself backwards, making Scourge hop off to avoid being crushed as Snapdragon slammed into the wall. Both leapt back to their feet and turned to face each other with surprising quickness, but Scourge soon had to roll to avoid a swipe of Snapdragon's enormous, hooked front claws, not quite succeeding and having his muzzle torn.

The dinosaur spun for a tail slap as Scourge reacted to the wound, and Snapdragon sent him flying over everyone's heads, smashing into a support post and then onto a table, which creaked under the impact but didn't break.

Cyclonus could hear a panel opening somewhere, and soon an enormous drone appeared from the smoky depths, rolling forward on powerful treads. The patrons hastily made room for it, and two of its thick tentacles whipped round the necks of the battling Predacons. Electricity coursed down the appendages, and they both slackened. Turning laboriously, the drone then rolled to the doorway and flicked its tentacles.

The crash finally brought Cyclonus out of it, and he ran for the entrance. Snapdragon's companions tried to hold him back, but he threw them aside with ease. Behind him, the rest of the crowd was murmuring in disappointment that another brawl was not to happen.

Outside, lights hovered to illuminate the metal sidewalk. Scourge and Snapdragon had landed opposite from each other, and Snapdragon's group clustered around his bleeding, scaly bulk.

"Let's just leave him," said Rippersnapper. "The med units will be along to clean this up, anyway."

The rest all nodded, and began to leave.

"Wait!"

They all turned, sneering. Even Rippersnapper and Cutthroat, the most loyal that he remembered.

"Why do you do this?" Cyclonus did not look at Scourge. "You cowards. Time and the oppression of new factions does not change what we are. We are Decepticons."

Laughing, Iguanus called, "Priceless! Slagging priceless! You're a fine one to talk about factional unity, ain't you? Hah!"

"I am a Decepticon!"

This only caused them to laugh again, before turning and running, the sound of their blasphemous mirth still audible.

A distant alarm sounded; likely it was the medical units they had spoken of. Cyclonus glanced at Scourge, lying on his side; that problem would take care of itself. He had to find the others, speak to their true natures.

Just as he opened his wings they appeared, Transformers small and neutral in appearance, red bands on their wrists. They made no distinction between either patient, questioned Cyclonus and he answered truthfully, trying to hide his impatience. Likely they were Maximals, and would be suspicious of him regardless of what their new governments claimed.

"There's no need to send this one to the hospital." One pointed at Scourge. "He's got some cuts and some internal crushing, but nothing too serious. His home chamber should take care of it. As for this one, he's been trouble before. We're calling the Peacekeeper Corps to take him in."

Why were they even bothering telling him that?  
"Do you know the wolf one?"

"Yes."

"Fly him home. He shouldn't be too heavy. I'm sorry, but we need the hospital for larger injuries."

"Very well."

"All right, looks like our work here is done. Hopefully we won't see you later."

Cyclonus wanted to transform and attack them. The thought of doing it with his beast form was enough to make him stop, and it would cause a scene that he didn't need. He was still on probation for two parties. Unable to resist a long-suffering sigh, Cyclonus picked up Scourge and flew to the apartment.

The two of them presently shared the dwelling, and the building had a communal CR tank which did a better job than the personal units. But it was always crowded, and he couldn't risk causing another scene by bringing in a bleeding form, so it had to be their small tank. He placed Scourge on the central dish and let the machine do the rest, thinking that Scourge should hope for a pleasant repair period. It was going to be anything but when he was awake to talk.

Finally he emerged. Like always, the repair fluid disappeared the instant it was exposed to air. Scourge shook himself and transformed, stepping to the floor. It took everything for Cyclonus to resist the urge to strike him.

"What happened there?"

Scourge shrugged with his wings. "You asked me to take you where the Decepticons gathered. And I knew you wouldn't listen to anything I had to say, so you went, and now I paid for it. Are you satisfied, Cyclonus?"

"Scourge, stop being so cryptic. Give me straight answers."

He rolled his eyes. "No one cares about the war anymore, and the other Decepticons mostly despise us. It's little wonder, when they were nothing to us but resources, 'excellent gun fodder'. Galvatron learned to treat us better, but the others got the same as they always had.

"With the old ranks dissolved and nothing to our names, we can snap at each other once in a while, but mostly we avoided each other. Some of the older ones get stupid, rambling on and on about how much greater Megatron was and how Galvatron led us all to the Inferno. Others just blame us for losing the war because it's convenient. The first Headmasters still have a grudge against you.

"The Predacons and Terrorcons and some others never really took that attitude, but they were no friends to me."

"No..."

"_Yes_." Scourge's look was gleeful, sadistic. "I've had to live with that for most of the time you were asleep. _That's_ why you'd be wasting your 'second chance' if you tried."

"A lie!" blurted Cyclonus without thinking.

"You saw it. What does it take to convince you? More importantly, why do you persist with a delusion?"

"It is no delusion," Yes, he was stable now, replying coldly. "And to answer your question, it is a matter of honour. I cannot abandon my principles for the sake of an easy life."

Scourge closed his eyes and didn't say anything for a few moments. "Then your principles control you. I have to admit, I thought you were smarter than that."

Tensing and scowling, Cyclonus fought again to control his anger. He wanted to cry out denials, to point out that the other Decepticons had always come to _him_ with complaints, that he therefore had a connection with them.

But they would be wasted. Scourge was the same dishonourable coward as always. "This conversation is finished. We have different priorities, and cannot hope for any form of compromise."

Scourge rolled his eyes and didn't say anything, but his look was reproachful. Turning away from him, Cyclonus changed forms, curled up, and pretended to sleep. For some reason he felt disappointed.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Cyclonus flew high with Scourge, on the appearance of leisure but actually on a minor Tripredacus reconnaissance mission. Hopefully a duty performed, albeit at the behest of a lesser commander, would provide a respite from these feelings of inadequacy. Taking in the surroundings would not provide one; as usual, the setting only served to depress him, and the bright light of midday revealed all its offence.

They were in what Scourge had called the "darker ends" of Cybertropolis, where Tripredacus agents looked for more recruits among the disaffected Predacons who didn't have to play at being good little capitulators, perhaps escaped criminals.

Just over the horizon Cyclonus could see the main planetary prison, a tall cylindrical building dull grey in its metal, that colour now laced with green and blue. Scourge had shown him the commnet and the visunet, which had told him that there was a frantic search for the other escaped Decepticons, though some, like Cyclonus, had claimed to be starting over and were also on probation. His immediate thought had been of reaching them, but he would wait. The bar incident would not deter him, but it might be best to wait for time to weed out the cowardly.

He caught the sound of the street cover opening somewhere below, and flew in that direction until he could see it, and waited, hovering. The cover almost opened but flopped back several times, letting Cyclonus wonder why he even bothered watching, but then it climbed out at last: a sinewy, winged beast, like a technoragnic version of the Dinobot Swoop, but with a beak that was a spike-lined trap. Snuffling, it dragged itself through the alley on its claws and stumpy legs before taking flight once it was clear.

Cyclonus turned his head to follow its path. As it went higher, it changed into a tall, muscular robot, shabby in appearance, but with the aura of newness that all now possessed, flying with real jets and not articulated wings.

In his right hand was a sword, little more than a pommel and a scrap of blade. Something about his appearance was familiar. Cyclonus followed him, knowing that he was threatening his cover but somehow not caring.

The other paused, turned to look straight at him. Cyclonus could hear Scourge flapping up behind, but kept his optics straight on the newcomer. Scourge was only grunting and tsking, but Cyclonus heard him drawing his side-arm, internalized guns being a thing of the past.

Taking no notice of that, the stranger said, "I knew that one day I would find you". His tone was breathy, reverent.

Cyclonus asked who he was.

"I apologize. You have only seen me briefly, long ago, in a different form. My name is Blitzwing."

Anger made him forget where he was. "Traitor!" Forgetting his gun Cyclonus lunged, but Blitzwing turned aside. Cyclonus fluttered to reclaim his hover and faced Blitzwing again, wings beating hard.

"Only in the optics of he who betrayed us all," was the calm reply. "Come with me, and I can show you a way to right his wrongs."

Old memories made him rebel for a moment. But...Blitzwing was welcoming him. At last he'd found a true ally!

Scourge was suddenly there in his face, a flurry of blue and black. "Don't be an idiot, Cyclonus! We are to report this to the Council immediately!"

"Do not worry," said Blitzwing, smiling. "Scourge is to come with us." He swung his sword out in an arc.

More Transformers appeared from where Cyclonus had sensed them, hiding inside the buildings and on the roofs. They were some of the escaped Decepticons, but also some of the false Predacons, all with the marks of their older forms on their features.

The choice, then, was simple. Cyclonus tackled Scourge, trying to pin his wings and arms. They grappled briefly in the air, but despite his bluster Scourge was easy to overpower.

When he finally had him Cyclonus felt relieved, happy in a way that was slightly embarrassing, though Scourge still struggled. Y_ou see! _he wanted to shout at him. _They all don't despise us! You were wrong!_

Blitzwing gave orders and made gestures that were both quickly obeyed by the others, as they slunk and slid their way down the buildings into the sewer opening. Cyclonus cuffed Scourge before following. Not hard enough to knock him out, but he was in a hurry.

Marching through darkened tunnels and rivers of discarded fuel, they stopped in an underground chamber where no waste flowed. It looked to be part of Old Cybertron, huge and worn but wholly metallic.

"Give him to us," Blitzwing said. Likely they would restrain him somewhere where he couldn't get in the way. Cyclonus tossed him like a pile of scrap.

Scourge was immediately swarmed, grabbed by multiple hands. His head bobbed above the crowd, snarling, and his long nails, fully extended, whipped through the air and left trails of ichor.

But more stampeded in, pushing Cyclonus to the walls, making his wings and tail scrape against them. For a moment he couldn't see Scourge, and a pair of metallic cracks was heard, along with wet tearing, and Scourge's screams. As they moved away from his fallen, quivering form, his suspicions were confirmed; they had broken his wings, as they hung limply from his shoulders.

"What is this?"

"Bltizwing's orders," growled one of them.

"You stay," said another.

He would comply for now, but the anger was still there. He would destroy these treacherous creatures, lower than slargs, who had stolen his dream, inviting him into their sanctuary only to hurt and harass him.

Cyclonus let several moments pass while he regained calmness. Perhaps Scourge was as dangerous as he claimed, and drastic measures were needed to make him not interfere. He could tell the Council...

Another walked around to Scourge and gripped one wrist, taking the tip of one long, curving black nail between his free fingers, and tearing it free in a stream of fluid, making Scourge's cries much louder. The rest of his nails were methodically ripped out in the same fashion, and several onlookers laughed.

On the fourth pull Scourge at last ceased screaming, falling over onto his side, covered by one of his limp wings. Likely his own internal painkillers had caused him to go out.

Two others took him and flew up to a ceiling that was lost in darkness, its beat-up illuminator casting only a small light pool. Cyclonus wondered why he could not move, or even speak. The anger was still there, but he was rooted to the spot.

Scourge fell back through the darkness, but stopped with a jerk and bounced in the air for a moment before spinning slowly. Cords were tied around his wrists and neck, and they twined together into a single strand that lead back up out of sight.

Hearing growls coming from around him, Cyclonus turned and saw that most had reverted to their beast modes and had jaws or mandibles open, as if in eager anticipation. They were forming a circle about the hanging Scourge.

Blitzwing, still a robot, walked out from their ranks to stand before Cyclonus. Grinning, the outcast produced a small gun and tossed it at his feet. Cyclonus looked at it, then up again, and the expectant grin hadn't vanished from Blitzwing's face.

"What are you doing?" It came out deadpan.

Blitzwing's face sagged. "Surely you must know," Seeing Cyclonus' glare, he explained. "Concern for your fellow spawn still stains you, Cyclonus. We know that you are more, but you still must prove that you are not the selfish toady the others think you are, but the knight for the Cause that you must be. And he would only turn us over to the Maximals. Kill him, and we will welcome you."

Cyclonus gaped before closing his mouth hurriedly. His first thought was to do it. One life for the glory of many, that was an easy price.

"Do not be fooled by our looks. We were simply waiting for a leader, and you are that one."

Pounce sneered from the dark, "You could have done it long ago, but you just couldn't let go of that old basket case, could you?"

"Silence!" Blitzwing shouted into the crowd. Quickly he turned to Cyclonus. "Don't you remember? They revered you, saw you as the true leader."

Against his will, Cyclonus' tail lashed. Oh, yes, he could remember. They had been few, but their foulness was unforgettable, assuming that just because he was powerful and deigned to talk to them, that he was their saviour, that he might have _cared _for them as anything but those in the service of himself, Scourge, and Galvatron. The very idea!

But he needed them to topple the arrogant Maximals, the plodding, fake Predacons. Some of those above who had been good servants might return as well. With their size, and their experience. It was easy enough to picture: he would use the gun to shoot Scourge down, try to get him out of his stupor. There was fun in destroying a defenceless opponent, but in doing so to a comrade, one who had, sometimes, served him well, there had to be some fight in it.

And yet... "If I am to be your leader, if you revere me so, my desire alone should be enough to prove myself, and you should not need such a foolish spectacle."

"Oh, you fool," Blitzwing shook his head. "How you've been corrupted by Galvatron's madness."

Cyclonus spun in his direction, and began to stalk forward. Automatically he began to prime the weapon.

Blitzwing continued, apparently oblivious to the whine of the gun's growing power. "Even in death he holds you down. It was his spectre that caused you to lose the war. Doing what we asked of you would symbolize your freedom." His voice turned pleading. "Your place is with us, not with your selfish brother."

"Yet why must there be a separation? Scourge could prove useful."

"It is too late for you. You pitiable, mislead creature."

"You are mistaken." He shot Blitzwing in the chest. "I will not live a lie under any circumstances." Another shot. "I did fail. But I will not crawl to you, begging for your forgiveness!" Another, finally sending Blitzwing crashing down. "My loyalty was always _my_ choice. If you wish a bow, bow _to me_." Cyclonus finished this in a more clam tone.

Standing, Blitzwing charged, screaming. His fist crashed into Cyclonus' face, but instinctively Cyclonus kicked at his midsection, claws tearing through the metal-flesh. A mixture of things poured onto the rocky floor, as howls arose from the surrounding crowd.

A thought jumped into his head. If they attacked, he might not be able to go fight his way free. Should he run instead?

Yes. As much as it hurt, he would not die among scum. The tunnels looked wide enough for his wingspan. With one leap he caught the air, firing to sever the cords. They uncurled and dropped Scourge, Cyclonus catching him without stopping. Pumping his wings, he drove into the darkness. Scourge would have been able to see in the black, but he was still unconscious.

And Cyclonus had shamed himself, so fixated on undoing his failure that for a moment he had been willing to become the plaything of lesser Transformers.

"Left, then up."

Scourge's voice was weak, but there was a tenseness in his body, likely from forcing himself to stay awake, fighting his new systems. He croaked out more directions, and Cyclonus followed. A heavy thing leaped out of the dark and pounced on them, and Scourge yelped as he was accidentally squashed underneath. Fuel splashing into his face, Cyclonus heard a voice above him, hissing, "You did fail. You deserve to die here. All your talk about glory. Just stupid. Knew you were a--"

Cyclonus pushed up, throwing Sparkstalker off. Trying to stand, he was pulled down by fanged jaws clamping about his arm; trying to wrench free, he punched blindly at the shape. Scourge rushed in, a snarl exploding from his throat as he became a wolf, as much a cry of pain as of fury.

There was screeches, the sound of ripping skin, and a wheezed, "payback," were followed by the Firecon flopping off howling into the dark. Fumbling, Cyclonus managed to pick up Scourge and they were back on their way.

He almost went down again, a stinking horde of derelicts grabbing at his ankles, a wave of strange scent threatening to choke him. But he strained and pulled and shot wildly into the crowd, arm turning back at an angle impossible for an organic. And then he was free, great tears in his scaled legs.

Finally, they were up in the sane world again. Their pursuers had recently withdrawn cursing into the dark, perhaps afraid of being recaptured. Hovering about the street, still carrying Scourge, Cyclonus felt a strange kind of exhilaration, but could sort it out later.

-----------------------------------------------------------

He flew to the nearest hospital, carrying Scourge right in through the front entrance. Cyclonus' joints were starting to complain, Scourge being nearly as large as he was, the condition of his body not helping. But he hovered neatly and landed with the same grace, though his bleeding legs threatened to buckle.

After Scourge was sequestered, the Transformers (some were wearing Predacon emblems, to his shock and disgust) directed him to a room for lesser-damaged patients, giving him complimentary energon and promising to call the CPC, all the while not making much of a scene over their bloody condition.

The CPC member who came to speak with him was a Predacon. He introduced himself as Insecticon, which made Cyclonus' face twist before he collected himself. The creature, half his size, took him to another building while they waited for Scourge.

He was disinclined to play the part of the concerned brother, and related their adventure in calm, descriptive tones, of course excluding his true motivations and the reasons they were there. "I wished to see all of this new Cybertron, having no idea that that was where they resided."

"Your friend ought to have warned you."

"I had believed that I could handle it. Do you know who I am?"

"Unfortunately. But now you are going to help us. With the way things are right now, it's difficult to worry about a few revived criminals, but this might put it back on the map."

"And you would be happy about that?"

"Some of us will be."

Was this one involved with the Council as well? Best not to speculate. If he was not, Insecticon seemed to believe him.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The room was bathed in a soft green light, perhaps meant to be soothing. Scourge was suspended in the centre, wings and arms held aloft by mechanical machines so that smaller wall implements could reconnect tendons and circuits, split open fingers for manipulation, the medical devices having thankfully been "reformatted" as well.

"It must be easy for Maximals and Autobots. All that sentimental slag comes easy, no angst, no games. But then, they gotta apply that to everything. Not a bad trade-off, then."

Cyclonus started, recovered. "So. You are conscious."

"Well, my head and neck are, anyway. The rest still don't feel a thing."

"Be clear that this was a matter of honour, Scourge. Whatever it meant, I could not cater to others, let them tell me what to do. That is the way it has always been. There was no sentiment here."

"Or it might be that blood was thicker than water, as the old saying went. Heh-heh. It's just like with Galvatron."

"It was not. They exaggerated his incompetence, probably imagined him becoming but a dependent, myself the puppetmaster. But I needed them. And now..."

"Now you've probably doomed them."

"How did you know...?"

"You had to tell the CPC something, and it'd look worse if you lied. But mark my words, Cyclonus: things are going to become chaotic, and not along factional lines. This technoragnic thing is going to be trouble."

"And you view my concerns as petty in light of that, do you?"

"Oh yes." Scourge grinned wider. "Listen, you have a way to get back at the Maximals; it's going to take a lot for the Council and its agents to fall apart. Plus, there's all the comforts of life. Stop trying to be so damn heroic, quit making yourself look like a fool."

"I am no fool."

"So you see it then? See what will happen?"

"I admit that you are at least correct on this matter, Scourge. The others do not want me unless I crawl to them, and perhaps not even then. Perhaps they would have laughed after I killed you. You still laugh at me, and so do others. Perhaps I am a relic, but I will live as a relic unforgotten. For now, this shall be my army."

"I suppose that's all we can expect from you. But maybe I would shake your hand, if mine weren't busy being reassembled. Then, see you upon the next solar cycle."

"I will."

Cyclonus walked out, pressing the button to close the door. Checking to see if the corridor was empty, he then allowed himself to lean against the wall and sigh, putting one hand to his forehead. Naturally they would be berated by the Council's lackeys for this. Scourge had told him that any violent incidents involving Predacons always seemed to bring the wrong attention to the rest of the faction, and the Council responded in kind..

And whatever happened to the other renegades would not be considered his province. Perhaps he had only traded one kind of servitude for another. Still, Decepticons did not dwell on regrets. They lived in the now, and took things as they came. Perhaps one day he would reclaim the glory that was his. In the interim he would wait, and be sure not to falter.


End file.
